Jack Be Nimble: A Lion About to Roar Book 4

by Ben English

  —and when the world came back again it was much like he’d left it, only more so. The big guard behind him was making a terrific racket, shouting and kicking and still trying his damndest to choke him. He couldn’t have been out for long, but Jack was already feeling the effects from lack of oxygen. Black, edgeless motes danced before his eyes.

  Ian was somewhere nearby, grunting. Either giving or receiving punches.

  Even though the big man nearly covered him, Jack still had his feet firmly on the floor. And the guard made a mistake. In the heat of the moment, he’d grabbed Jack’s neck with his open fingers, which were each as thick and solid as an Ohio bratwurst. A decent chokehold required the person doing all the work to protect his fingers. Fold them in. Wear razor mesh gloves. Something creative.

  Jack tucked his elbows in, reached up with both hands, and broke two of the man’s fingers. Then two more. They snapped easily, probably as much a surprise to the guard as anyone. He bleated like a goat as Jack twisted out from underneath.

  Another guard loomed, and Jack snapped his hands out, striking the man in the chest with an explosive breath. With his arms straight and palms together, he rotated his forearms a half turn. The ziptie went slack, and Jack popped his thumb knuckle free.

  He stepped within striking distance of a man just in the act of clearing a pistol from his belt, and slipped the ziptie around his wrist and the holster, cinching the gun back down.

  Someone struck Jack from behind, driving him to his knees. He didn’t stay there, but took advantage of the angle to punch another guard in the back of the thigh. As the man fell backward, Jack seized him by his vest and slammed his head into the floor.

  Another guard grabbed him, and Jack used the man’s arm as a leverage point, weaving under and behind the grip to strike with his own elbow at the back of his opponent’s elbow and neck. Someone kicked him in the back, and he spun with the impact, adding his own momentum to it but closing in, rather than backing off. Put all that force into a closed backhand strike at the kickers face.

  The guard with a ziptied hand came at him with a knife, and Jack punched his arm on the downswing, a hard block which brought him close enough to heel strike the man’s chin and follow up with a punch to his Adam’s apple.

  Ian fought with much the same style. They finished at nearly the same time.

  Marduk watched them balefully from a prone position. Didn’t even bother getting up.

  Bolotski backed away as Jack approached. The guard handed the guns back without a word, drawing a curse from Marduk. Jack walked the shellshocked guard over to the bank of elevators and pushed the call button.

  Ian stepped carefully on Marduk’s bandaged hand, quieting him somewhat. The FBI man was gingerly examining the contents of his backpack.

  Jack waited until his heart rate slowed. He wanted his voice to be absolutely steady.

  “Run. You tell everyone downstairs what you saw here. We’re blowing the generator in five minutes, then we’re taking out all the other structures on the island. My advice to all of you is to get off the island as fast as you can.” Despite himself, a bit of warmth snuck into his voice. “You are the only one who can save yourself, but you’d better hurry.”

  He held the young man’s gaze a moment more. Ian coughed, ruining the intimidation factor, but that was okay. He’d seen the kid’s eyes. The kid believed him. The kid who believed in ghosts and pirates and all the rest would believe him, and run.

  Jack looked at Ian. He hoped the threat to destroy the generator wasn’t merely a bluff. “What do you have to say for yourself?”

  Ian gingerly drew a slightly curved package out of his rucksack. “Front toward enemy. Poisonous if eaten.”

  Second Set of Eyes

  In the old days, he and Marduk took turns writing code and checking each other’s work. There was a kind of symmetry in the day’s events, and Raines felt it as clearly as he felt the physical effects of the sun plunging down through the skylights of his lodge. He’d removed his shoes, and his stocking feet felt good in the sunlight. Solar radiation oscillated the elements of the cells in his feet, causing their temperature to increase. Very pleasant.

  Rewriting the trigger script from memory was a trivial exercise. Most of the code already existed, hidden away in pieces on different servers around the world, in electronic nooks and crannies where no one but he and Marduk would know to look. After the reassembly, it was fitting that Marduk would check his work. They’d send out the second pulse together, from the lodge’s balcony, and retire to the media room.

  An unusually large portion of the compound’s server power was currently tasked with video work: recording the day’s events as they unfolded on the various television and internet news outlets. Every single TV news channel was being captured and edited on the fly. Remembrance, a clear history, from as many international viewpoints as possible, was invaluable to Raines. Part of his plans included an oral history and a series of documentaries on the change, so whatever the human race evolved into would have a clear picture of exactly what he’d done.

  Distantly, rifle shots. So far away they might have been imaginary.

  And they didn’t matter, not really. The code was done.

  Raines stood, stretched, and unlocked the door to his study. The central living area was quiet, as he liked it, although he expected to find Marduk ready to look over the trigger script. He used his computer to search for Marduk’s life signs, and found him immediately, a short distance away. The other man didn’t have a computer with him and couldn’t be easily summoned, not with the transmitter at full power, muddling the other networks.

  He’d have to walk the code over to Marduk, on his computer. Good enough.

  Someone had left a half-eaten plate of cookies on the balcony, along with several empty glass bottles. Raines decided that of all days, today he felt magnanimous enough to forgive sloppiness. He returned to his study to fetch his shoes, and heard the elevator door open.

  “George?”

  The lodge was empty. Not a soul—yet Raines didn’t feel alone. It was unsettling, and he reveled for a moment in the unaccustomed sensation. There was no one on the balcony or in the kitchen. The atmosphere inside the lodge was unsettled, as though a crowd had just moved through it. He didn’t feel alone.

  George was supposed to be here. Instead, a faint scent of fresh apples and pears hung in the air.

  Raines was gripped again by that surety of success, of the universe itself bending around him for his own benefit. All things were moving together for his good. What was the universe telling him?

  Had he imagined the elevator? No. Mechanical malfunction? A higher probability. He used his computer to call up the specs of the elevator and the operational dashboard. Everything looked fine.

  He was poised at the threshold of the lift when he heard someone ascending the stairway. Raines cast away the elevator schematics and pulled up the security feed from inside the stairwell.

  It clearly showed him a pair of intruders, sweaty and wild-eyed, running in tandem. They only wore bits and pieces of uniform, so they weren’t part of his security team. These were men he didn’t recognize, with the faces of killers. Surely not Colombians, they’d never been allowed this close to him, let alone shown the inside of the mountain. That is, unless there had been a coup.

  They were only a few flights away. There were no locks on the door.

  What was going on here? These men with murderous expressions, coming from the same direction that Marduk lay—Raines used his computer to check Marduk’s vital signs, and they were fine. He thought to switch view to the men on the stairs—and they carried the nanodevices as well.

  Raines felt a glimmer of annoyance. These men were on his security detail after all. Why were they charging into his private quarters? They had cast aside all pieces of their uniforms which bore the Raines insignia. In ancient times, this meant one thing.

  And they were advancing on him from the direction of Marduk—Raines checked
the computer—whose blood pressure and pulse were both a bit elevated, whose neurological chemical balance bore the signature of someone riding the edge of panic, but who still thought himself in control of the situation.

  Each footfall sounded cleanly in the tight stairwell beyond the doorway.

  His own security force, hand-picked by Marduk, for the most part. Half-out of uniform and charging into the lodge today, of all days.

  Raines didn’t even need to deliberate. His hand skimmed across the computer screen.

  Cut the strings.

  The footsteps echoing up the metal stairway faltered, lost tempo, and transposed into a slumping, shapeless crash. Nothing came through the door.

  He took his computer with him into the elevator.

  *

  The natural incline of the hill met the edge of the balcony, and she barely slowed, stepping from chair to table to balcony railing to hillside. Mercedes battered herself sprinting through a stand of bamboo, and when she plunged out into a clearing of sorts she immediately turned uphill.

  She had to watch her steps closely, which threw hair into her face, but there was no time to do anything about that. The two men in pursuit probably knew this area perfectly, including any animal trails and sudden drop-offs. That was the only advantage she was willing to cede to them. Besides, she could see the very top of the transmitter now, despite the incline.

  Perspiration flowed freely; she figured they’d be able to follow her by scent alone. Her jeans were shredding under the sharp, thick blades of jungle grass—skin would be next. How Tarzan’s wife ever managed to swing around the jungle in a tiger print thong she had no idea.

  *

  Jack Flynn stood over him, offering an empty hand.

  Marduk knew it was time to act quickly – but there really wasn’t much he could do, was there? He’d dropped the injector when the grenade went off, and all the guards were down or fled. With a start, he realized he was bleeding from a scattering of tiny cuts on his face and neck.

  Reluctantly, he took Jack’s hand and pulled himself to his feet. By the time he stood, the cuts had already closed and he was feeling better. Less likely to vomit.

  Flynn noticed these changes. This close, he was bound to. He brushed the black dust from Marduk’s shirt. Smiled that damn smile. “Open the door. Show us the generator.”

  The FBI man was cuffing the guards with the remaining zipties. He’d returned the military explosive to his backpack, but kept it close. Marduk wondered what would happen if he ran over and stomped on the pack, would the kinetic energy transfer be enough to set it off?

  He couldn’t bring himself to do it, for some reason. His eyes found the elevator, where the indicators revealed that one of the lifts was ascending toward their floor. Marduk wondered if Bolotski could be returning with reinforcements. He’d misjudged the man.

  This was potentially cause for hope. Had to keep these two from Raines at all costs. Get them injected with the nanodevices if possible. Once he laid his hands on a computer with the trigger script and other programs, both Flynn and the FBI stooge would dance for him.

  Raines had to be finished with the code by now.

  “You, ah, what? The generator?” he asked, slightly slurring his speech. Better for them to think he was still out of it from the grenade.

  Marduk didn’t fake the stumble when he went to the door. At his touch on the control panel, the steel doors parted, and white, soft light rolled like a solid mass over them all.

  Whitaker and Flynn were clearly captivated by all that lay beyond, and Marduk gestured them through the portal, making a show of keeping his hand pressed against the door sensor.

  The instant he felt he could get away with it, Marduk tapped out the appropriate panel code, bringing the doors shut, sealing the two intruders in before they could do much more than look surprised. They were now locked behind reinforced blast doors, part of the perfect sphere of bolstered, layered steel which made up the core of the mountain.

  A few more instructions added to the panel, and all the other doors leading into the generator room were sealed. Only Marduk or Raines himself could open the doors now. Flynn was secure, sure as Pharaoh.

  Marduk shivered, and laughed weakly. Time to find Alex and check the code. As he passed the elevators he noticed the floor counter coming up fast. It wouldn’t hurt to place guards at the observation windows, to watch Flynn until the whole security force could be brought to bear. The best thing to do was to station large groups of men at every entrance to the generator room, then burst in on the two men simultaneously from all points.

  He took another deep breath. This was good—linear thinking was a clear sign of renewed mental acuity, proven by his deft tactical thinking. The security chief would agree—so would Raines, for that matter. The only person who might find fault with these tactics—

  The elevator pinged. Miklos Nasim stepped out.

  *

  Absurdly, the climb felt great. All the years of working out like a madwoman were finally good for something. The climb was brutal but not punishing. Mercedes blotted her hands on her knees as they rose, then slapped a branch out of her way. And she could think clearly, her mind ranging ahead to what she’d find at the apex.

  Far away and below, gunfire broke out. That made her think of Jack, but he’d still be inside the tunnel, right? The reports were softened and soothed by distance, but with every barrage she imagined bullets passing through his body.

  She clawed her way up a mossy bank that came away in her hands. Raising herself up, Mercedes found herself in a bowl-like clearing. Like the caverns below, it was a natural feature compressed and made smooth by the tech of man. She wondered if she stood in the original caldera of the volcano. Raines’ men had done their best to defoliate the area, right up to the door of a single-story building pressed into the hillside. It was made of poured concrete, but for all its solidity, vines and creepers festooned the edges of the building, apparently in the act of recruiting it for the forest. Jungle pressed in behind it, where the building met the upper slope. Its windows were dark, small, and meshed with security wire.

  Above the clearing loomed the tower, topped by the vast disk. Cable housing anchored the tower to the building. Standing directly beneath the shining transmitter sent a shiver through Mercedes. Her filings tingled and she touched her jaw; the sensation was more than just apprehension.

  The sound of machinery inside greeted her as she approached the front door. It was locked and made of metal. She considered knocking, decided the place was empty, and rapped on the hard surface anyway.

  Mercedes kicked the door, aiming for the area above the handle; it didn’t budge. Felt as solid as the concrete framing it. Hinges weren’t even on the outside.

  Something rustled in the brush, drawing her attention back the way she’d come. Mercedes began circling the building, looking for a rock, a branch, anything to defend herself with. Her hands were empty.

  *

  He’d have to free both hands to get the door open. Alonzo was loathe to set his rifle down, but the bad guys were probably coming up pretty fast on the other side of the barn, which made it half past time to move his ass.

  The building was old, but intended to last. Definitely US military. Certainly the creation of a group of men at the absolute zenith of both their technological prowess and contempt for artistic merit, inspired by Providence to achieve a perfect balance of functionality and uncanny ugliness. Reminded him of phone booths in London, serving stolidly since before the war. The effects of defoliating agent showed in the dead, dead soil all around the place—except for near the wide rollup doors, which provided a clue to the current mission of the ancient Quonset Hut, Military Grade.

  Alonzo rolled the doors up, heedless of sound, and sure enough. Packed to its ruffled roof with gardening equipment, two industrial-strength tractor lawn mowers, spades, shovels, Pulaski tools for woodland firefighting, pitchforks, and a phalanx’ worth of grass rakes, stacked, racked, and ready t
o be trodden upon for comic effect. It was just like his father’s tool shed back home, only without the blackened, ravaged husk of the Talos cooking grill he and Jack tried to use when they were twelve.

  As he took inventory of the barn, the tiny, rambunctious corner of his mind (he usually pretended it had a voice like Yosemite Sam) fed him a continuous stream of opinions as to the probable location of the mercenaries advancing on the barn. The point of this entire little side-adventure was to address that particular concern, and here he stood READING THE DAMN HUSQVARNA LABEL on a PRESSURE WASHER.

  He figured the Colombians were about halfway around the building. Maybe a touch more. At the most.

  Yosemite Sam really started to bleat and curse at him at that point, but he didn’t care. He’d found a stack of what he’d been looking for.

  The gods of Pandemonium were finally smiling on him today. With that thought he swore he heard ole Yosemite chuckle. What in tarnation took you so long?

  *

  Jack didn’t jump when the big steel doors slammed shut. He was too busy trying to make sense of everything his eyes were telling him, and besides, he expected as much from Marduk. Counted on it, in fact. Marduk’s mindset and general paranoia would push him to attack next with an overwhelming force, which (and Alonzo would find this darkly hilarious) was a good thing for Jack and Ian, since overwhelming forces take a bit of time to get together and organize. “We don’t need much time, do we, Ian?”

  Ian shook his head, still staring at the machine. “Had a feeling I’d see this damn thing again,” he said. “But it’s different than the one in London.”